Candle Wax
by CeeLoobyLouDee93
Summary: Hermione hates metaphors, but most of all, she hates that she is one. She is asked a question about them in class. She spots a lit candle in the room, and uses that as a metaphor to her secret relationship with Draco. Written for Snapiekins.


**A.N. Hiyaa Again Peeps!**

**Sorry About the Length Of This One, I Know Its Pretty Short, But I Couldn't Think Of How To Make It Any Longer. It Was Only Supposed To Be Short Anyways.**

**Basically This Idea Came To Me Last Night When I Was Lighting Candles. I Couldn't Concentrate On What I Was Doing Today With This Plot Bunny Bouncing Around In My Head!**

**So, It's Basically Hermione Comparing Her Relationship With Draco To Candle Wax And The Flame.**

**Also, I Don't Think They Have English Lit Lessons In Hogwarts, But They Do Now XD.**

**Disclaimer: Don't Own, Never Have, Never Will. However, I Do Own The Idea Of Comparing Them To Candle Wax And Flames XD.**

"Miss Granger, could you perhaps tell us what the poet is referring to with his metaphor of the scorpion?"

Hermione Granger hated metaphors. But most of all, she hated that she was one. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"No? We just covered this! Please try to concentrate more, Miss Granger. I'm disappointed with you…"

Hermione was surprisingly difficult to describe. One would start to describe Hermione, thinking they had a perfect explanation, but would stop mid-sentence. Kinda like the end of The Soprano's. But she knew the answer. She glanced over to the solitary candle burning in the corner.

Candle wax was surprisingly difficult to describe. It seemed so simple, it was just, erm, wax. It gets hot – it melts. But there was more to it than that.

Hermione's heart was candle wax. He was the flame.

When wax and flame came together, it was like magic. Hermione inwardly giggled at her own comparison.

She loved the flame. When he wasn't the flame, she hated him. But he when he was the flame, she loved him more than anything.

She loved that the flame could melt the candle wax, her heart, over and over again.

She loved the pure, spectacular beauty of the flame. A reminder of his elegant face.

She loved the different colours of the flame. It represented how well people knew him: most people just saw the outer layer, the emotionless sting whipping around madly searching for something to harm, the colour white enough to be almost ice; some saw the next layer, of warmer colour like him, this one was gentler, softer, but still hot enough for people to judge him; the next layer was only seen by Hermione, the heart of the flame, the colour as warm as could be, but without the vicious burn, so gentle it was almost completely still.

She loved it when the flame got so high, it split for a moment. It showed the two sides of him – the one that everyone else saw, the one that she saw. Everyone else took one glance at him and summarised him as a vicious stuck-up Slytherin prince, sincerely. Hermione looked at him, and she knew there was more to him than that. She knew he was fragile, gentle, and one of the kindest and most considerate people she had met in her life. She knew that he didn't really have the same views as his family on blood. No one else would ever see that side of him, and she loved that. It was especially for her.

She loved when part of the wick broke away from the rest, and the two separate flames would battle it out. It portrayed the inward battles she knew he was facing. The battle between his heart and head; the battle between the one he loves and his family; the battle between what he wants to do and what he should do. She loved that he was complicated like that, that the flame representing her never won, and that she wasn't the most important thing in his life. It made him human, and all the more real. This would seem like she didn't care for his love, or that she never wins because he doesn't love her enough, or both. But, more than that, she loved that for just a second, the separate flames always merged, showing that he did love her, and all he really wanted were for things to be simple.

She loved when the flame danced. There she goes - metaphors again. But it did dance. And it reminded her very much of when they made love. The way his hips swung delicately, gently. The way his surprisingly smooth hands glided over her body. The way his curved tongue flickered over her body, like the flame to the wax.

She loved when the flame burned out. It smoked afterwards, the flame leaving a part of itself behind. This showed Hermione that it was not a mere goodbye; it was a promise of a stronger, more powerful, more loving return.

But most of all, Hermione loved that her heart was candle wax, and that the flame, Draco Malfoy, could melt it over and over again.

**Let Me Know What You Think In A Review! xoxo**


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